We're getting really tired of this...
Category: Local...
Posted Monday, November 22, 2004 at 08:35 AM [GMT-6]

It's raining again this morning. It started in the wee hours; I could hear it tapping against the skylight, a sound which is either soothing or depressing, depending on the hour. If it occurs at, say, 3:00 a.m., then it's a pleasant curtain of white noise which can be drawn to obscure consciousness as your brain dimly assimilates the fact that there's absolutely no need to respond. On the other hand, waking to the sound at 5:00 a.m. means that the agenda calls for tossing and turning and trying to sleep (which, of course, never works) until the alarm frees you from that responsibility 30 minutes later.

Fortunately, the former scenario was in place, and quality sleeping ensued.

Unfortunately, the good timing didn't hold.

You're probably not old enough to remember Joe Btfsplk, the character in Li'l Abner who trudged through life with a thunderstorm over his head, and his head alone. Abbye and I are beginning to empathize with Joe, with this morning's experience being Exhibit #1.

Of course, Abbye heard the same skylight pattering and she knew what it meant. Death from above, blah, blah, blah. But, at 7:40 a.m., there's nothing falling from the sky and she reluctantly consents to being tethered and led (read: dragged) out the front door for a trip to the park, some four blocks away. A drip or two from our oak tree strengthens her suspicion that this will turn out badly, but I press on, dragging her like a pull-toy with a broken axle.

A half-block down the street, I begin to see evidence in puddles of occasional sprinkles, somewhat reminiscent of the water-filled T-Rex tracks in "Jurassic Park" (and an equally sinister omen). A block later, a light drizzle is falling, and Abbye's pace has changed from dragging behind to pulling ahead, as she realizes that her best chance of survival is to Just. Get. It. Over. With. The light drizzle changes to light rain as we enter the park, and then, suddenly, we can hear the rain hit the ground around us, never a good sign.

We make a quick u-turn and head back home, in what is now officially rainfall. We're both soaked by the time we get back, although Abbye is visibly relieved that she once more dodged a bullet and lived to cower another day. She dashes through the open front door and has a running fit through the house, shedding water and eau de wet dog in her wake, little realizing that the worst is yet to come: the appearance of The Big Towel.

Is it embarrassment at being picked up and swaddled, with all her parts getting more personal attention than she normally permits, that makes this such a great trauma? I don't know; all I know is that it reduces her to a whimpering shivering mass, until it's over, at which point she again engages in the running fit, ultimately diving into the security of her crate, once again safe and protected.

Until this afternoon, that is. Walkies never rest.

Oh, and did I mention that the rain has stopped? It ceased approximately 15 minutes after we returned home.